Page 44 of Try Hard

Fia

W hen you’re fifteen and imagining your bisexual awakening—the first person you’ve had any actual attraction to—kissing you, you have no idea what that’s going to be like. You think you do, you dream you do, but you have no idea.

As Eve smiled into another kiss, I realised even adult me hadn’t had a clue.

Eve’s lips were so warm and soft, delicate but desperate. She kissed me like drinking oxygen, like she’d wanted this just as long as I had and was equally as amazed by how blissful finally kissing was.

I kissed her bottom lip, teasing it into my mouth and grazing my teeth over the fragile skin.

Her arms wrapped around me, her mouth on mine, and the sound of her ragged breathing were bringing to life parts of me I’d long locked down and forgotten.

I hadn’t kissed anyone in years, and, even before that, hadn’t kissed anyone without flinching for a very long time.

My mind had been filled with everything they thought was wrong with me, my brain howling about the things they said as my body screamed not to let them kiss me.

Kissing Eve was not like that.

My brain was doing its best to catalogue every feeling, every tiny movement, every sound and touch and aching breath.

My hands wanted to be everywhere on her, wanted her hands all over me.

The way she didn’t wobble or hesitate from holding me up was a balm to all the thoughts that told me I was too heavy, that sounded like exes and doctors I wanted nothing to do with.

And all there was to concentrate on—all I wanted to concentrate on—was how perfect Eve was, and how exquisite kissing her felt.

She adjusted her grasp, moving my legs to wrap around her waist. I went willingly, loving the way she traced her hands over my calves as she did.

Eve Archer was beyond perfect. Her skin was soft, her muscles mesmerising, wrapping around her body unapologetically.

They were so beautiful. Every single person who had ever had a cruel opinion about her had been unforgivably wrong.

And, when someone so perfect was kissing you like you lit up the entire world, it was hard to feel that hatred you’d been taught to feel against your physical self.

She kissed me like I kissed her, and I knew exactly how I’d always felt about her.

“Is this okay?” she asked, more than a little breathless as she rested her forehead against mine.

I couldn’t help but smile. “More than okay.”

Her answering smile was glorious, right until I jumped down from her arms and she moved to step back, to give me space. I didn’t want space.

I took her hand and led her the two steps over to the bed. “As great as being picked up by you is, I think this might be a little more comfortable…”

She laughed, following me onto the bed willingly. “I was not uncomfortable.”

Her tone had me blushing, but I assumed I was already red from kissing her.

Generous as ever, Eve moved to lie next to me, giving me all that space I didn’t want, but when I tugged her on top of me again, she was only too happy to oblige.

“You don’t have to hold yourself up like that, you know?” I said, gesturing to the elbows she was balancing on.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.” It was clear in both my tone and her expression that we knew the comment went far beyond having a gorgeous, muscular rugby player lying on top of me and whether I could physically handle that.

She eased a little more of her weight onto me, laughing when I wrapped my arms and legs around her and pulled down, and she gave up, handing me exactly what I wanted. The comfort of her body pressed against mine, pressing us down into the mattress, was so ridiculously soothing.

“How well can you feel them?” I asked, shooting her a coy look.

She laughed. “Now that I know what they are? Pretty damn well. I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out last night.”

“I told you, I know how to keep them hidden.”

“While people are lying on top of you?” She shot me an understandably sceptical look.

“Okay, fair point. You are the first person to do that since I got them done.”

“How long have you had them?”

“Five years.”

Her eyes were wide as she nodded. I knew her well enough to know she was trying to hide how grateful she was that I was letting her feel them, especially after so long.

She ducked her head to press a quick kiss to my lips, but I deepened it, teasing my tongue over her lower lip, then against hers as she met me fully in the kiss. Being able to do this with her felt like exploding, like I was becoming a supernova. I’d never known it could be like that.

“Other than my therapist,” I whispered against her lips, “you’re the only person I’ve ever told on purpose.”

She was quiet for a second, considering. “The pool?”

“Yeah. I’m sure, over the years, someone’s spotted them there. They’re a little difficult to hide in a swimming costume.”

“I’m sure they are,” she said, sounding deeply amused, and I loved everything about it—everything about her being amused, being on top of me, knowing all my secrets.

Annoyingly, my therapist had once said a lot of the pain I felt was around the fear of intimacy, of the ways people might use that against me.

She hadn’t been blaming me, simply pointing out that, after people had done exactly that, it made sense that it was something I’d struggle with.

I hadn’t wanted to believe her—hadn’t wanted to believe any of it.

Mostly, I’d wanted it not to be a thing.

I wanted to reclaim my body and my mind and my life and make the rest of it go away. It didn’t work like that.

And it didn’t quite work like that with Eve, either. How I’d have loved to just have her cure everything simply by being her lovely self and back in my life. But brains were complicated.

It was easier with her. I could let down barriers, let her in, and, every time I did that and it went well, I was more comfortable letting more of them down, but even Eve Archer wasn’t some magical panacea. I liked finding my own healing with her at my side, though.

I grinned up at her. “Maybe I’ll show you at some point.”

She pulled back, eyebrows arched. “You know, Ophelia, I’ve already been itching to join you at the pool, you didn’t need further lures to get me there.”

She was so impossibly spectacular. I’d felt like a supernova, but what was she other than the entire universe? Light and life and the unfathomable existence of reality. The most perfect confluence of all that life could be. “You like saying my name, don’t you?”

“Yes.” She was confident in her reply but an adorable splash of pink bled across her cheeks.

“I like yours too.”

“I’m glad.” For just a second her brow furrowed and she rolled off me, onto her side, pulling me with her. “I’m hoping you’ll want to stick with me and my name for a while.”

My heart ached at the hope in her voice, and my throat felt suddenly thick. “I’d like that. But, you know, being with me means… sacrifices, I suppose.”

She frowned like I’d never said anything more ridiculous. Ironic really, since she’d known me when I was a kid and I’d undoubtedly said some ridiculous things back then. We all did.

“How’d you mean?” She leaned up on her elbow, keeping her other arm draped across my waist.

I let out a heavy sigh. “Well, sex.”

“You don’t want to have it?” she asked like any answer to that would have been completely acceptable to her. How was she real? How could I ever deserve this?

“Uh…” I looked down, suddenly flustered.

Though, given the way we were lying, the move essentially had me looking straight at her cleavage, and that was not helpful.

At least, not at that moment. “I do. With you. But… I don’t think it can be impromptu or unplanned. That might take the sexy out of it.”

“Ophelia,” she breathed, moving to lift my chin, to meet my eyes.

“I mean this in the most patient, respectful way these words can be said: we’re talking about getting to have sex with you .

You can choreograph the hell out of it, ask for anything and everything you want from me, and I’ll do it all.

Having you in any way is a fucking gift.

I want to give you everything you need so that you can enjoy it. ”

I winced, not at her words, but at the annoying, drilling voice in my head, some unpleasant concoction of my exes and the doctor and my meanest internal narratives.

Eve stroked my face so gently it felt like she thought I might break. “Or we can do nothing more than this.”

Immediately, I shook my head. “Not tonight, but I want to. I just… I need…”

“Safety. Exactly like everyone else does in relationships, in sex. And there’s nothing wrong with asking for that. Even if you hadn’t had the experiences you’ve had, I would want you to ask for everything you need.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

The pounding in my head that matched the pulsing of my heart was making me dizzy. It wasn’t fair to Eve. She wasn’t the one who’d made me feel this way. She didn’t deserve to be forced to live with the consequences of someone else’s actions.

I could feel her watching me as I warred with myself.

Eventually, she wrapped her arms back around me and pulled me into her.

“Every single person in the world is bringing their own experiences and context to the table every time they interact with someone else. We are all carrying what other people have done to us, and everyone we form relationships with is helping us navigate that. The fact that you’re being so open with me about what you’re carrying is a gift I do not take for granted.

I wish I could make it all better for you—I wish I could go back and prevent them from hurting you—but, since I, apparently, can’t do that, I want to help you carry it now. I want to know what you need.”